The Sorceress, the Sword and the Singing Queen
by progpoet
Summary: Taking Santana's hands in her own, she said, "Light of my morning, listen. You are the Sword. I am the Sorceress. Our Queen is the very Song of our land. Before us, nothing can stand." She paused, and her own normally calm, serene features hardened into a glare that would terrify even the most depraved demon. "Nothing."


**The Sorceress, the Sword and the Singing Queen**

**Chapter One**

In a clearing right in the very heart of the deep forest called Leafsong, which is itself the very center of the Realm of Mac Kinley, where the wind sings and sighs through leaf and bough in tribute to the Singing Queen, there was a house. It was a small but solid house, constructed of fine, strong stone and white wood, elegant but not ornate, and to look upon it, one could not possibly guess who would choose to live within its walls here, a league's walk from the river Mirth, and many more from the Queen's castle, so far from the Throne of Lima and the great city surrounding it. The tranquil, peaceful setting was deceptive, however; for this place, where the laughing river and the voices of bird and beast made the music to which the wind moved and the leaves danced as the light streamed through the canopy of green and blue and red, one learned in the lore of such things would know, was a place of power.

The fine, dark earth of the clearing in front of the house in the forest was marked by many, many tracks ground into the dirt by a pair of constantly moving, shifting feet; feet that belonged to a dark-clad woman who danced and jumped and slid this way and that in a complex pattern of move and counter-move. Feet that this day, and every day, wore a warrior's crafted hard black leather boots, lifting up, pounding down, over and over and over again, in a dance that was no less beautiful for all its deadliness.

Those boots, which bore not a single scuff or tear despite the hard use to which they were put each day, covered the woman's lower legs almost up to the knee; and above the boots there were fine-spun brown leggings covering her well-muscled thighs. A simple black belt with a brass buckle encircled her taut but slender waist, and the simple, though evidently well made, white shirt that she wore slightly open at the neck to allow her caramel-colored skin to breathe in the warmth of the early morning, was soaked through with sweat as she leaped and turned through the humid forest air. Her long, raven-black, tied back neatly in a flowing tail by a simple band of brown leather, streamed behind her as her body twisted and tumbled, and a shrill cry, joyous and frightening, flew from her lips, a call of thanks and praise to the Goddess of Battle.

In her left hand she held a gleaming golden sword, and one did not need to be a Learned One to know that there was magic held within the blade, for it moved so swiftly and with such precision that the eye could barely follow.

"Ha!" she exclaimed when her feet met the hard ground after a final set of leaps and bounds and cuts and slashes, signaling that the morning's training was at an end.

At that very moment, the door to the house opened, and another woman, this one tall, pale, blonde and stunningly beautiful, emerged. She wore a long robe of pure, shimmering white and carried a long staff in her right hand, the rings of attainment adorning all five fingers, and when she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper, yet the trees trembled at the sound.

"Good morning, love," she said, extending her hand to the other woman, whose face glistened with sweat, though her breath was smooth and even, as though she had merely been sitting in a chair, contemplating the clouds for the last three hours, and not engaging in a training routine so rigorous it would have put men three times her size to the ground within minutes.

The raven-tressed one rolled her eyes and smiled affectionately at her luminous counterpart, taking the offered hand and kissing it with a light brush of her lips.

"My lady," she replied, dropping to one knee in the old display of loyalty, to be rewarded with a dazzling smile from the golden-haired woman.

"Up, up, Santana. How many times must I tell you there's no need for you to kneel? Honestly, anyone would think we'd only been together a fortnight and not these five years past," the woman chided gently, the corners of her mouth still turned up in amusement.

The one named Santana looked down, shaking her head in reply. This, too, was a morning ritual.

"I have honored and respected you in this way since the day we became Bound, and I will continue until the day of its breaking, which, Goddess willing, shall not be for many more years to come. For are you not the most honored daughter of the House of Fabray, and more than that, most gifted of the Arcane in all our land's memory, my lady Quinn?"

And with that, Santana stood and raised her eyes to meet Quinn's, and the forest trembled at the quiet murmur of power that rippled outward from the two of them.

"Light of my morning," Quinn breathed, hazel eyes sparkling.

"Sun of my heart," Santana returned, finally returning her Bound's smile.

Smiling once again, the mage gestured almost imperceptibly, and a crystal goblet filled with the coolest water appeared in her hand. "Drink," she commanded quietly. "Drink, and be refreshed, for there is much to be done today. The Singing Queen requires our presence at Court, and we must ready ourselves for the journey."

The warrior took the goblet and drank deeply, then groaned in mock exasperation. "Couldn't you just open a Path to the castle, or at least call a Dragon to fly us there? You know how I hate that endless walk."

"What, and miss the greeting of the crowds outside the castle? I know you, Santana – you love the attention, don't deny it," Quinn laughed.

"The _attention_ I like, true; it's the _smell_ I could do without." Santana's face scrunched up in an expression of disgust.

Laughing again, Quinn shook her head, looking upon her Bound with adoration. She stepped back into the little home they shared and beckoned Santana to join her."You're impossible."

Closing the door behind her and standing her golden sword against it, Santana merely shrugged off her Bound's chastisement. "And you love me. Besides, I simply point out the reality of things. It's in a warrior's nature to be completely honest, after all."

"Well, no one is more honest than you, true enough. It's fortunate that our Queen likes you as much as she does, for if she did not, you would have been banished long ago for referring to her as 'Queen Short-Stack' and questioning her heritage," Quinn said, seating herself at the large round table that dominated the room. At a gesture, the goblet in Santana's hand vanished and reappeared in front of Quinn, full once again.

"Don't tell me you haven't wondered if there's at least a drop or two of Dwarf blood in her. I mean, look at her. We haven't had a Queen so lacking in stature since...well, since ever."

Quinn chuckled as she sipped at her goblet. "Be that as it may, please do try to rein in your tendency to speak before thinking when we appear at Court today. I would prefer not to explain your perception of 'reality' to Lord William and Lady Emma _again. _We may be the Heroes and Guardians of the Realm, but Rachel is still our Queen, and she deserves our respect."

Plopping herself down into the other large, plush chair at the burnished table, Santana protested, "I don't mean any harm by it. I just can't help saying whatever pops into my head. Besides, our Singing Queen knows I bear her nothing but affection and admiration."

Satisfied, Quinn changed the subject. "Have you seen the latest portraits of the Royal Daughter? She's quite the stunning little girl, and growing so quickly." At a wave of the mage's hand, the pictures appeared in the air before her for Santana to see.

Santana peered at the images, her normally hard features softening at the sight of little Princess Beth's laughing face, lit by a halo of wispy blonde hair, surrounded by the rest of the High Court: Queen Rachel, her advisors, Lord William and Lady Emma of Schuester, and her teachers, Lady Cassandra of July and Lady Shelby of Carmel.

"She's beautiful, Quinn. Why would anyone leave such a perfect child at the castle gates without so much as a parchment of explanation?"

Smiling softly at the Warrior who carried half her soul, Quinn replied, "Such reasoning is beyond the capability of even my mystical perceptions, love. I'm just glad that the Royal Guard found her before one of the Red Witch's lackeys could. I shudder to think of that precious little one being turned to the will of such a dark power."

Santana's eyes narrowed and her face darkened. "As long as we draw breath, sun of my heart, that will _never_ happen. We swore it before all the Goddesses and our Queen."

Quinn's heart swelled with pride at her Bound's fierce protectiveness. Taking Santana's hands in her own, she said, "Light of my morning, listen. You are the Sword. I am the Sorceress. Our Queen is the very Song of our land. Before us, nothing can stand." She paused, and her own normally calm, serene features hardened into a glare that would terrify even the most depraved demon. "Nothing."

"Not even..._Her."_

A chill had descended upon the room as they spoke, and Quinn waved a suddenly tired hand towards the fireplace, which filled at once with a crackling blaze, replacing the chill with a relaxing warmth. She saw the tension leave Santana's coiled body and sighed with relief. A coiled Santana was a difficult Santana, and Quinn was in no mood to deal with that on the happy occasion of the tiny Princess' birthday, which Queen Rachel had declared to be the anniversary of her adoption.

Although speculation had run rampant through the realm about who Princess Beth's true parents were, the Queen had chosen not to even dignify it with a Royal response. She had sung the Song over the little girl. With that, any previous ties of blood had been severed, and Beth was claimed by the Throne of Lima for all of her days.

And through her spying-glass, Sylvestrus, the Red Witch, in her tower made of bone, had watched that event, and grown displeased. There was something about the tiny girl, something that made her feel something akin to...she couldn't even remember the word - _oh_. Yes. _That_ one. The word she hated above all others. The word she had labored her entire life to expunge from her vocabulary even as she used it to rule over her slaves and minions.

_Fear._

Until that day, Sylvestrus had feared three things, and three things only: Quinn of House Fabray, Sorceress Supreme, Wearer of the White Robe and Five Rings of Supreme Attainment in the Arcane Arts; Santana of the Heights, Bound to the Sorceress, fiercest and strongest Warrior-Guardian ever known; and the Singing Queen, Rachel, third of the Berry Dynasty, mistress of the mysterious and all-powerful Song.

And now, this...this mere _child_ who somehow sent a warm current of trepidation all up and down her spine, the bones of which she had replaced with unfreezing ice long ago.

The spell of Obfuscation had kept the prophecy from the two Bound ones and the Queen until now, but the power of the little Princess' destiny was proving too strong even for Sylvestrus' dark magic, and all too soon it would be revealed.

The Daughter of Light had arrived. She who was fated to rid the realm of the evil of the Red Witch upon coming of age.

This could not be allowed to happen.


End file.
